First message
Kieran was exhausted.
At this point he'd lost count of how many deliveries he'd made that day. His phone kept lighting up with messages from Mia asking when he was coming home.
A few more hours, he kept replying.
The order brought him to a luxury apartment building.
Customer. Just a name.
Probably another wealthy executive ordering dinner instead of cooking.
He took the elevator up and knocked.
The door opened.
“Hey, thanks,” she said, already holding out a hundred-dollar bill while reaching for the bag.
Kieran froze.
His mouth actually fell open.
For a second he forgot why he was there.
“Dude,” she laughed softly, amused rather than annoyed. “Just give me the food.”
He swallowed.
“Right. Sorry.”
Their fingers brushed as he handed over the bag.
A tiny, meaningless moment.
Then the door closed.
Kieran stood there for another second before finally turning around and leaving.
Part of him never really did.
Two weeks had passed since that delivery.
Two weeks of dreams.
Two weeks of remembering her smile, her laugh, the scent of her perfume and the brief touch of her fingers.
He knew almost nothing about her.
Just her name. Her phone number. Her address.
Just enough to know he was in serious trouble.